


The Library Thing

by EntreNous



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Frottage, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-12
Updated: 2007-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Buffy's fault.  And Cordelia's and Willow's.   And Oz's and Giles's and Angel's.  But especially Wes's.  It had been only a matter of time, as he saw it, before his idiotic polymorphous-ly perverse brain started associating libraries with thinking, “Sex now, please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Library Thing

**Author's Note:**

> One of those [maleslashminis](http://maleslashminis.livejournal.com/) fics (man, I miss that comm), for the Wes round, written for soft-princess.

Xander was pretty sure it was all Buffy’s fault. Well, okay, Cordelia’s too. And Willow’s.

If he let himself be totally honest, which he was all about these days, Oz and Giles needed their share of the blame. Hell, even Angel had played a part in nurturing Xander’s little problem.

The thing was, a guy couldn’t just see the things he’d seen -- a blonde slayer next to the book cage practicing her roundhouse kicks with a cute grunt; a stacked sarcastic brunette leaning against the stacks with a wicked smile; an adorable redhead with a fuzzy sweater and a furrow in her brow, clicking anxiously away at the reference computer; a sexy as hell guitarist lounging back as the picture of calm and cool while he put his feet up on a reading desk; a British librarian drawing long elegant fingers sensually down the page of a text; or a broody vampire, dark and foreboding swooping in and out of their meeting space -- without it happening.

It had been only a matter of time, as he saw it, before his idiotic polymorphous-ly perverse brain started associating libraries with thinking, “Sex now, please.”

Could be he was more than a little weird, getting turned on by the sound of books sliding down the shoot into the return bin, having to shift in his seat at the smell of older volumes with their cloth pages and hidden secrets, licking his lips at the vision of someone leaning over a book with a look of intense concentration while standing in darkened stacks.

But then, he figured, he could have liked something way worse. At least he didn’t have a fetish for demons who wanted to lay their eggs in his brain, which was a very good thing, considering he’d met two separate species lately who had to be forcibly persuaded not to do just that.

Sure, he supposed it would be easier if it was only chicks and books that turned him on. There were whole websites, after all, devoted to shot after shot of gorgeous girls in libraries. But after watching Sunnydale do its disappearing act, and taking a year to get over Anya’s death, he’d resolved life shouldn’t be about holding himself back from things he wanted. If that meant dating men as well as women, he was okay with that, and if it meant allowing himself to admit that libraries got him kind of hot, then he was all for it.

Still, his thing for libraries was making his Council assignment of the month a little, well, uncomfortable.

“What did Rupert say about the language of origin?” Wesley murmured in a low rich voice as he checked through another volume.

They were in the fifth of Wolfram & Hart’s libraries. Ever since Xander had gotten past Harmony’s chirruping announcement of his arrival at the front desk, he and Wes had been constantly combing through stacks and poring over books. If it had the makings of chicka-chicka-bow-wow-wow scenes in his head, though sadly Wes wasn’t just there to get Xander all hot under the collar. No, the two of them were in search of key information that would help Slayer Central fend off the outcome of a prophecy coming due around six months from now.

So what they did was library work, not library sexy fun time. When Xander fell into bed at night at his hotel, most of the time he dreamed about indexes and concordances and microfiche machines.

If other times he dreamed about Wes pressing him up against a pile of folios that would slide to the floor as they scrambled to twist against each other on top of a circulation desk . . . well, that was nobody’s business but Xander’s.

“What did Rupert say about the language of origin?” Wes repeated. A smile quirked at the edges of his mouth.

“Uh.” Xander watched the way Wesley scanned and then flipped a page before caressing an image as he studied it. He wondered if the pads of Wes’s fingers on his body would feel rough or soft. “What?”

“The origin language of that evidence he uncovered a day ago.” Wesley shut the volume and gave Xander a long, searching look. “Abyssinian? Sumerian?”

“Language! Right. Giles sent me an email all about that last night.”

“Well?” Wesley gazed at him expectantly, and Xander stared at the way Wesley’s fingers stroked up and down the spine of the book.

When none of Giles’s message made its way into his head, Xander shrugged. Visions of Wes loosening his tie and fanning himself with a demonology journal made it kind of crowded in there. “You probably better just take a look at it yourself.”

“Ah.” Wes followed him over to the table where they’d set up and took the printouts Xander handed him. He leaned one hip against the surface as he read; his lips parted slightly, his long lashes nearly brushing his cheeks as he perused the documents.

Xander tried his best not to imagine flinging the pages from Wes, grabbing those slim hips in his hands, pressing his mouth against those soft lips, and pretty much climbing on top of him.

“ . . . with the new reference I found early this morning.”

Xander shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry -- I kind of spaced out there for a minute. You were saying?”

Wesley sighed. “I only remarked -- the passage I discovered last night, in tandem with Rupert’s recent findings, should considerably narrow the search for the answers you seek. It’s down to about twenty volumes at this stage. I don’t doubt we’ll find what we need in the next day or so.”

“Really?” Xander could practically feel his face fall, so he clasped his hands together with a clap, and bobbed his head in an enthusiastic nod. “That’s -- that’s great. Super, even.”

Wesley set down the papers and leaned against the table with his arms crossed over his chest. “Really? You seem almost disappointed.”

Xander laughed and adjusted the strap of his eye-patch before wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts. “Me? No, definitely not. The sooner we can get on with finding out the freaky prophetic happenings, the better, so say I.”

“Yes.” Wes watched him with a keen eye and then shook his head. “You’ll be looking forward to returning home, I expect. I certainly don’t wish to keep you involved in a process you obviously find so tedious.”

“Tedious?” Xander held his hand over his chest, as though wounded. “No way. This is so far from tedious I don’t know how to begin to tell you how not tedious it is.”

“Hmmm.”

“I love research!” he protested. “I’m research guy, all the way. Why, I’d be just as glad if you said we had about two more months of researching this thing ahead of us.”

“Yet you’ve seemed continually distracted while we’ve searched these collections. I had assumed there were a number of things you’d far rather do.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do than you. Than _this_ ,” Xander corrected himself.

Wes’s lips curved into a smile. “Still. I hardly think it necessary for you to hang about and waste your time indoors with me while the answers are clearly in reach. I can trace and summarize the pertinent references on my own. Why not spend a few days sight-seeing and enjoying L.A?”

“Why not?” Xander rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to think of something.

With his eyebrows raised, Wesley asked, “Are you telling me you would rather continue helping me research?”

“Like that’s so hard to believe,” Xander scoffed. “Me, you, research -- what could be better?”

“And it is the research specifically which holds your interest?” Wes asked with care.

“Definitely.” Xander took a sharp breath when Wes’s arm shot out to pull him suddenly close.

“Nothing else?” Wes murmured a breath away from his mouth.

But Xander was too busy running his hands up Wes’s sides and kissing him to answer.

Wes turned them around, shoving Xander on the round table, pressing against him as they shimmied all the way onto the surface. Xander opened his mouth with a gasp, and pulled Wes on top of him. The kiss was amazing, but it was the sound of the stack papers and more than a few of the books falling to the floor that made him moan.

“Xander,” Wes whispered, pulling back slightly.

“You know . . .” Xander’s voice was hoarse as he slid his hands down Wes’s spine and massaged at the small of his back. “You might have, um, miscalculated with the whole, ‘We’ll find the answer any day now,’ thing.”

“Indeed.” Wes moved forward, grinning when Xander bit his lip at the motion “Upon reconsideration, I think our research project may well take as long as -- ”

“We have six months,” Xander supplied helpfully.

“Five and three-quarters months,” Wes announced. He smoothed a lock of hair away from Xander’s face and leaned down to kiss his neck. “Why don’t we take this . . . particular research session somewhere else?”

Xander glanced around at the stacks of books looming behind Wes, heard the pin-drop quiet of the room, and sighed happily. “If it’s all good with you, I’d just as soon stay right where we are.”


End file.
